Les Gamines
by xxx-DaydreamBeliever-xxx
Summary: Marie is a friend of Eponine's from the streets of Paris, who decides to join her friend at the barricades. Please R&R! Constructive criticism and advice welcomed. I make a point of reading and reviewing my reviewers' stories, so you'll get something back
1. A Meeting

The bridge loomed up in front of her as Eponine scurried through the darkness. Shivering, she slid down the slope and crawled into the cramped space underneath. The press of bodies was stifling, but at least warm. Spying a familiar figure hunched up near the edge, Eponine struggled over and nudged it.

Her fellow gamine jerked awake from a fitful sleep "Eponine!" She shuffled over to give her friend room "I haven't seen you in weeks."

"I've been busy." said Eponine coyly, blowing on her red fingertips.

Her friend shook her head, her dark hair tumbling over her thin, pale face. "Chasing that boy again, 'Ponine?"

"His name's Marius," Eponine informed her.

"Whatever."

"And no, it wasn't that. It was… something else."

The dark girl looked up. "Go on, 'Ponine, tell us."

Eponine paused, tracing a pattern in the dirt. "I've been in the jug."

"You never!" The girl's tone was a mixture of admiration and fear, "What was it like?"

"Oh, nothing special. I was only in for two weeks anyway. The Madelonnettes."

"Whatcha do?"

"It was one of my father's plans - tried to rob this old gent and ended up getting pinched."

"Blimey."

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the screams of the wind beyond their stone refuge. Eponine scanned the rest of the people sharing their shelter. Suddenly her eyes widened and she bit back a cry of alarm, ducking down behind the man they were next to, who was mumbling in his sleep and reeked of alcohol.

"What's up?" Her friend sounded worried.

Eponine swallowed "It's Montparnasse."

"So?"

"He knows me. He's in with my father. He obviously escaped La Force." She clenched her teeth

She did not add that last night he'd had her again, up against the wall outside a grimy inn. She bit her lip, remembering the pain of him pushing into her… then she kicked the memory away.

"I've got to go."

"Where?"

"Anywhere." Eponine crawled out of the mass of bodies and disappeared into the darkness.

Marie watched her friend leave. _If she doesn't think I haven't guessed what he's doing…_

Sighing, she huddled deeper into her thin chemise and shawl. She was a thin creature, who looked more twelve than fifteen. Her huge dark eyes were like black holes of despair in her white face. She had recently been thrown out of her home by her mother due to a lack of food. "She'll be dead before winter's out," Marie had heard her mother remark as the door slammed. Now she wandered the streets alone, picking scraps of food from the gutter. Eponine had once told her about the wonderful Monsieur Marius's friends, who were apparently going to take part in a revolt to overthrow the bourgeois and gain _égalité _for all. Recalling this, she laughed bitterly, which provoked a fit of choking coughs, and sank into an exhausted sleep.


	2. A Friend in Need

A hundred thoughts crowded and swirled in Eponine's mind as she pushed through the crowd - Marius, La Magnon, the Rue Plumet, the girl in the garden… should she tell him? The house was in no danger from her father's gang anymore… but to lead darling Marius to _that girl_…but oh, she wanted him to be happy, and praise her… she'd found his sweetheart, the pretty rich girl in the big house with the wealthy father… but she wanted him, and to deliver him to another woman?

Eponine skipped over the puddles as she pondered her dilemma. Stopping outside the Café Musain, she peered inside, but Marius wasn't there tonight. A young whore was standing on the corner, offering her wares to various passers by. Some stopped to look her over. Eponine was about to hurry past when she saw a familiar pair of dark eyes staring at her from under a mass of tangled black hair.

"Marie!"

Her friend sighed, and a faint ghost of a smile flitted across her face "Hey, 'Ponine."

Eponine gazed at her, aghast. Instead of her chemise, skirt and shawl - a precious gift from her grandmother - Marie now wore a low-cut, cheap dress which was fraying at the edges, and no shoes. Seeing Eponine looking at her bare, chapped feet, Marie said "I had to sell my shoes, along with the rest. To pay for this." She tugged at a thread in the sleeve of her gown.

Eponine was lost for words.

"So." said Marie, "Whatcha been up to?" She raised her eyebrows. "We can still talk, 'Ponine, like before. I haven't changed anything except my clothes."

Eponine grinned, "Actually, I have got a bit of a problem."

Marie stared, "_You've _got problems?"

"It's to do with Monsieur Marius. You see, I was sent to this house by the gang and I saw in the garden- what?"

Marie was staring at her friend with eyes dismayed and furious.

"Oh, so the damsel has a problem with her beloved, has she? Oh well, that must be enough to get upset about. I mean, what could possibly be worse? Go on, pour your heart out. What happened? He say he didn't like the colour of your eyes, did he? Eponine, you have no idea what it's like out here. You've still got a family." The bitterness in her words shocked Eponine. "Sure they might be banged up, but they'll be out, won't they? And then you'll have a home and a family and I'm stuck here sliming up to strangers, having them in grimy inns where there's lice between the sheets and it hurts, God, 'Ponine, it hurts. And the next morning they throw a few sous down at you and leave, sometimes giving you a beating first, and you know you have to come back out here and do it all over again, just to earn enough to eat some stew that God know's what's got in it, just to stay alive. And you've got problems!" Marie was weeping now, tears tracing clean streaks down her filthy face. Eponine stood frozen, stunned into silence.

Marie wiped her face with a hand no cleaner than the rest of her. "Sorry, 'Ponine, I just… it just…" She took a deep breath. "It's hard, sometimes, you know?"

Eponine nodded. "I know. Montparnasse…" She left the sentence hanging.

Marie nodded "I know."

"You do?"

"I could tell. When you looked at him… I could tell."

Eponine looked over at her friend, who was watching the passers-by with deadened eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

A man stumbled out of the café, laughing and throwing incoherent remarks back at his friends. He spotted the two girls standing on the corner and lurched over, leering at them. "Free tonight, darling?"

Marie stepped forward "I am at your command, monsieur," she purred.

He laughed "Glad to hear it." He turned to Eponine, "You selling, dearie?"

She stuck her chin out, "No."

"Pity. Would've been nice to have a pair." Grabbing Marie's arm, he pulled her towards him, "Ah well, come on, sweetheart." With a sickly grin, he dragged her towards the doorway of a nearby inn.

Eponine watched her friend disappear. Her troubles with Marius forgotten, she turned and trudged back along the road.

"It's so unfair." she whispered, her mind full of the image of Marie's tortured eyes.


	3. For the New World

Julien Enjolras closed his book and squinted up at the clock. It was past midnight. With a sigh, he began collecting up all the papers and maps that were spread across his regular table in the Café Musain. The others had left earlier, except Grantaire, who was snoring lightly in a corner. Enjolras glanced down at him in distaste as he left, flipping coin to the barman.

The street outside was anything but empty - the nightlife of Paris was just awakening. He turned to take his usual route home when a flurry of movement caught his eye. A young girl was emerging from a half-hidden doorway in a dingy alleyway. No-one wondered what she was there for - her clothing made her intentions quite clear.

Enjolras was shocked. Living in Paris meant he was no stranger to such temptresses, but this one's youth and frailty made his heart go out to her. He approached her slowly, like a frightened animal ready to flee.

Marie saw him coming towards her. She still sported a black eye from yesterday's customer - a vicious brute from a baker's shop, infamous for a heavy hand and a short temper. This man was handsome, at least, but there was no telling what his intentions were. She watched him warily, suspicious of his awkward manner.

"Mademoiselle, I noticed you from across the street." He cleared his throat nervously. He was fighting for these people, defending them - but he still could not talk to them. "My name is Julien Enjolras."

So this was the famous Enjolras. She'd heard of him. Word on the street told of his ideals and his followers. His plans for a new world. She expected to be awed by this legend, but she wasn't. Standing in front of her, he was just a man. Handsome, fair and lofty - but still a man, like all the rest who came to call on her. One man and his friends against an army. He didn't have a hope.

"Mademoiselle, I am not here for your services." he assured her. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a five-franc piece and 15 sous. He handed them to her. She turned the five francs over in her hand. It was so much money! Enough for dinner and a fire tonight, perhaps even a pair of second-hand shoes. She glanced up to thank him, and found he was looking straight into her eyes.

Then she saw why his friends were inspired to follow him to the death. She saw why he was revered on the streets by her fellow urchins. She saw why the thieves and pickpockets spoke of him with a slight fear in their rough voices. His eyes held something bright and pure, which burned in their depths with an awe-inspiring force. She smiled slightly - that army had a fight on its hands.

Marie looked at the money in her hand. This boy - man - was fighting for her. She had never known anything but poverty, and poverty left no room for ideals. This was something she didn't really understand - but it warmed her to her very soul.

She held out her hand to him. Faintly confused, he extended his. She dropped the five franc piece into it.

"For the new world, monsieur." she said firmly, before turning and marching back down the alley.


	4. Bloody Robespierre

**Hi again! Thanks for all my reviews, they are appreciated muchly! This is a short chapter with mostly dialogue. Anyway, just to clear up any confusion, this isn't going to be a romance fic. The only stuff there's gonna be is some of the characters crushing on others… maybe you can guess who they are.**

**Disclaimer (It's a little late): Does anyone think I own Les Mis? Seriously, come on. I own Marie, but that's it.**

"I still think this is a bad idea."

"Then why are you still here?"

"Because I have nothing better to do."

"Exactly. And I'm sick of it. It's time we stood up for ourselves! It's time we fight for our rights as human beings!" Eponine shook out a pair of trousers and held them up to her friend.

"That's not why you're doing this." Marie raised an eyebrow, "You're doing it because of that boy."

"Marius."

"Whatever." Marie picked up a torn chemise, "Where'd you get this stuff?"

"I swapped my clothes with a boy, and got yours with some money given to me by the girl on the Rue Plumet, no less." Eponine grinned; a slow, triumphant smile at the thought of what she'd done.

Marie gave her a deeply suspicious look, "You didn't kill her, did you?"

Eponine smirked "No. She gave me 5 francs to deliver this." She held up a slightly smudged letter, addressed to Marius in Cosette's handwriting. "She thought I was a boy."

Marie looked at the letter, murmuring "Of all the coincidences…"

"I know." Eponine giggled, "It must be fate."

"Of course…"

"Anyway, I went to the address on the letter, and there was no one in."

Marie settled herself down in preparation for a long recount.

"So I waited around for a bit. Then his friends turned up and said they were going to the barricades, and I thought, well! I'll go along too."

"And you decided since you're going off to some god-forsaken pile of rubbish in the middle of a street to shoot at the Garde Nationale, I should come too?"

"Well, you are my friend, aren't you?"

"We'll see" said Marie in a dangerous voice.

"And I believe Marius will be there as well, now his sweetheart has supposedly left him."

"So, because he chose some bourgeois hussy over you, you're leading this boy to his death?"

"If I can't have him no-one can!" Eponine snapped.

There was silence. Eponine went red.

Marie stared at her, "Is this what love does to people?"

"No." whispered Eponine, "I - I don't know why I said… that.

She turned away, biting back tears of fury. Suddenly she stood up. "Let's go."

"Now?"

"Yes, now." Her face was grim. "We won't be able to get through the streets in an hour or so."

Marie struggled to her feet, "Where exactly are we going?"

"Rue de la Chanvrerie." Eponine called over her shoulder as she marched away.

Marie tucked a clump of matted black hair into the cap she was wearing.

"_Liberté, fraternité, égalité - et la mort_." She whispered, then laughed. "I sound like bloody Robespierre."


	5. Upon These Stones

**B'jour! I know this chapter is kinda short, but I thought I'd leave it on a cliffhanger. **

**Thank you so much for all my reviews, they are much appreciated! **

Something exploded.

It spat sharp splinters of wood over Marie, who covered her face with her hands and ran, stumbling over debris and bodies that lay strewn across the torn ground.

She slumped against the wall, exhausted and devastated.

Someone was shouting orders. Someone else was screaming. Marie screwed up her eyes against the thickening dust, her ears ringing and her hands bloodied.

"Here!" someone panted, coming up beside her and shoving a loaded musket into her raw hands. When she just stared at it, the young man asked, "You do know how to use it, don't you?"

Marie was panicking. She didn't belong here! The gun felt amazingly heavy, and as she turned to tell him she didn't, she saw he'd already gone.

A crowd behind her was surging forward. She could already see people scrambling up the barricade, shouting, ducking, and all clutching weapons like her own.

The group of people behind her were jostling her forward, towards the barricade. Hurt, confused and terrified, Marie went with them.


	6. A Goodbye

**Phew… this was a difficult chapter to write because I had to refer to the book a lot. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! **

But where was Eponine?

They had gone to the place Eponine insisted they would find 'Monsieur Marius'. Well, he hadn't been there. For over an hour they had stood, uncomfortable and awkward in their boys' clothing. For over an hour Marie had leaned against the wall, her expression mutinous. For over an hour Eponine had stood, jumping at each little sound, straining her ears to catch any footsteps from the street outside.

Then the students had come. Finally. But Monsieur Marius was not with them. Monsieur Marius, it transpired, was nowhere to be found.

"I reckon you made him up." Marie informed her friend as they jogged in the wake of the crowd of students. "This boy, Marius. You made 'im up."

"I never. Monsieur Marius is real all right."

"Then why isn't he here?"

"Dunno."

They followed at a reasonable distance, keeping their heads down. It was some time before the group in front even noticed that the two pale, undersized youths from Courfeyrac's home were still there.

They had begun building. Well, 'building' was the word Monsieur Enjolras had used. Marie had thought it was more like piling - throwing barrels, cobblestones, furniture and rubble onto a growing mound of debris which was the barricade. Eponine was moving in stony silence, dragging paving slabs to the edge of the pile and heaving them into position. Her expression never wavered from fierce determination. And Monsieur Marius, curse him, still hadn't turned up.

Marie lingered in a doorway, self-conscious and slightly bewildered, watching the barricade grow and take shape. No-one noticed her. She examined the men discreetly. She could distinguish the students - they were young men, fresh-faced, with bright eyes and an eager manner. Try as she might, she didn't understand them and their damned enthusiasm. They know nothing of the world, she thought savagely. They're as ignorant as babies in a cradle. Yet some part of her longed to be like them, longed for the look of hope and vigour which had, so long ago, been banished from her youthful face.

When the barricade was finished, she looked up at it with a sort of frightened awe. Somehow, between the time she had watched it being built and this moment, with the red flag fluttering over it, it had acquired a majesty that surpassed a pile of debris.

The weapons had been given out, charged and loaded. Marie, skulking in her corner, didn't have one. Men were stationed at various vantage points, armed and alert.

The waiting began. A time when all life seemed suspended except Marie's own breath and heartbeat. A time when darkness fell, and Eponine appeared beside her, tired and distraught at the absence of Marius.

It came, finally. The earth shook with the footsteps of an army. Suddenly every man was at his post, crouched and ready, weapons levelled at the enemy through openings in the barricade. An attack had from the soldiers had took the flag off, and the flagpole, jutting into the dark sky, was suddenly forbidding. It had come.

The attack was ruthless. The guardsmen poured over their barricade, and the fighting began. Men died before her, felled by bullets or bayonet wounds. The clash of weapons, the sharp reports of guns and the screams of the dying overwhelmed Marie, who wept. Then…

"Marius!"

Eponine stood up, her face alight, watching an unknown figure in the midst of the battle.

"You coming?"

Marie shook her head.

"I can't…" her eyes were terrible with fear, "It's an army, 'Ponine."

"I know."

They gripped each other's hands in a silent gesture, and parted, though they did not know it, for the last time.

Later, as she lay dying, Marie would remember this, and wish that, to the only friend she'd ever had, she had said a better goodbye.

**A/N: This is not the end! I was going to end it here, but then I decided I would write another chapter after this. So I'm afraid you've still got another instalment to go…**

**Big love to all my reviewers, especially ponine-cosette, who has been faithfully reviewing every chapter. Thank you:D :D **


	7. The Death of a Rose

**Ok, so this isn't the last chapter either. I wasn't going to write anything about Éponine's death, but then my school decided to do Les Mis this year for its musical, and I got Éponine! So I felt I couldn't just leave her, so I wrote this little chapter as a sort of tribute.**

**Before I forget, would anyone like to Beta my final chapter? It's the one I'm most nervous about, always having been a sucker for dramatic finishes, so if anyone could help me out I'd be really grateful.**

**ooooooooooooooo**

She sleeps.

And as she sleeps, she dreams.

And then…

Awakening.

He was there!

"Monsieur Marius!"

He turns, but does not see. He searches with eyes, but, finding nothing, moves on.

Another cry, to reach for him.

"Monsieur Marius!"

Still, he cannot find her. Taking a breath, she whispers "I'm at your feet."

And always have been, she muses.

At last, he spies her against the dark ground. She moves towards him. Painfully.

He sees her, but does not know her.

"Don't you recognize me?"

"No."

"Éponine."

At last, he truly sees her.

"What are you doing here?"

"Dying."

That shocks him. He offers to take her back with him, to get her wound seen to. But she knows. It is too late.

Too late! The saddest words in any language. Too late means 'If only… it could have been different… we were so close…"

But they were never close. Not really.

He remembers her hand, closing over the gun, saving his life. He didn't know it was hers.

Now he does.

She knows it won't be long. Feeling bolder now the end is coming, she tells him to sit, and lays her head upon his knee.

The pain is melting away. She knows it's still there, pulsing through her, but she can shut it out now.

"You know, Monsieur Marius…"

Her voice was broken, her words disjointed, but she spoke to him, to the night, baring her very soul to the darkness in her last moments.

Éponine knows she should give it to him. But she is so content. Why must she remind him of Cosette now?

But he would be so unhappy…

So she does. The letter is delivered. It doesn't matter any more. It is too late.

Her newfound confidence, that comes with knowing there is nothing to lose, prompts her to ask one last favour of him.

It is small. Tiny even. But not unimportant. He must kiss her on the forehead after she dies. He must.

She feels herself letting go, slipping away. But she will not surrender. Not yet. Not now. It is not too late for this.

"You know, Monsieur Marius, I think I was a little bit in love with you."

She could hear Marie, saying scornfully "A little bit!"

But it doesn't matter now. It is done.

Finally, she lets go.


	8. The Believer, the Cynic, and the People

As she was pushed forward, Marie's hands tightened around the gun she'd been given.

Men started to appear. Uniformed, armed men, terrifying to the little girl among the revolutionaries. All around her, muskets and carbines began firing, and the others surged forward to meet the enemy. Marie was born along with them, almost weeping with fright and fatigue and confusion.

One of the men appeared in front of her. Time seemed to freeze in the split second she saw him lift his weapon to fire. Without thinking, Marie swung her musket up and clamped her bloody finger to the trigger. The gun let out a blast which shook her and made her stagger backwards. The soldier looked vaguely surprised as he crumpled to the floor, a neat round hole in his chest.

Shock froze her to the spot. She gazed down at his young face, with glazed hazel eyes, a lock of muddy brown hair flopping over his forehead. She'd killed him.

Time stopped as she stared.

When it resumed, Marie dropped the gun, bolted for the door of the tavern and threw up, her pitiful frame heaving and shaking with nausea until it subsided. Scrambling to her feet, slipping in her own mess, she darted towards the stairs, flinching at every muffled shot and explosion that pressed through the walls. She reached the upper room, pushed the door open and recoiled at the sight of a man sprawled across one of the tables. She'd seen enough drunkards to recognise one, and when she had decided he was thrust far enough into inebriation as to not notice her, she edged around his table and crouched in a corner. Then, exhausted and frightened, she sank into unconsciousness.

She did not know how long she slept. The sensation of the floor shuddering and the sounds of movement woke her. Disoriented, she squinted into the semi-darkness inside the tavern. A man was trying to heave a billiard table towards the door, through which thumps and shouts could be heard from outside. Marie recognised him. It was Monsieur Enjolras. As he positioned the table and retreated into the corner across from Marie's own, the door was flung open and the Municipal Guard poured in, a forest of bayonets were thrust through and a shout of "He's the leader!" was heard.

"I shall die here." whispered Marie to herself, and, seeming glued to the spot, she watched events unfold in front of her eyes. Enjolras flung his weapon away. It hit the wall above her head, clattering to the floor beside her and leaving a little cloud of mortar dust to settle on her dark, matted hair. The men ranged themselves in front of him and took aim. Still she sat, frozen, mouth slightly open, and watched.

"Shoot me."

Marie almost wept.

She had more or less forgotten the drunkard at his table, and gasped when he sat up.

"Long live the republic!"

She shrank back as he stood, approached his leader and took his hand.

The sight of them there was her undoing. She gave a whimper, then a sob, and the heads of the National Guard whipped round to face her.

One moved nearer, cautiously, as if she might flee. When she simply sat and stared at him dumbly, he grabbed her arm and dragged her to her feet.

"Well," he said, looking her over. His breath stank. Marie twisted, trying to free herself, but he held fast. "It's a girl."

She spat full in his face. Still he held her, his grip painfully tight. "Is this what you have fighting your battles for you?" he laughed at Enjolras and the other man.

"Quiet," snapped an officer. He walked towards them and pushed the young soldier away. Bending down to her height, he asked, "Are you one of them?" and jerked his head towards the revolutionaries.

She thought about this for a second. She was suddenly calm and sure, as if something had taken place inside her without her knowledge. Marie gazed at him with bold, dark eyes, and answered, "Yes."

She backed away from him and took her place beside them, next to the drunken man. Was he drunk any more? Marie wasn't sure. They regarded her with surprised, slightly confused expressions. She gave them stare for stare until they smiled and turned back to the guns.

A strange sensation was working its way through Marie's stomach. It was a moment before she realised it was pride.

Pride! She had never had anything to be proud about. Her whole family, as far back as anyone could care to go, were poor and mean and desperate. Her entire existence had been based around survival, trying to live to see the next day. There had never been any room for pride.

She slid her bony hand into the man's rough one, and his fingers tightened around hers.

ooo

"It was the strangest sight I'd ever seen," remarked one of the soldiers, telling this story to a friend one night years afterwards. "Those three people were about as different as you could get. Downright weird seeing 'em standing in front of us like that."

ooo

When the shots were fired, Enjolras remained leaning against the wall. The other man fell to the floor.

And as for Marie…

Her starved, sickly body finally gave up as the bullets sank into it. She felt white hot shards of pain lance through her. The feeling of dignity that had only been granted to her so recently flared as she lifted her head and yelled "Vive la revolution!"

She crumpled to the floor, her frail limbs shaking. She saw Monsieur Enjolras' body resting against the wall. She saw blood.

She saw the sun.

There was a sigh, almost of relief, and she lay still.

The National Guard stood for a second, regarding the three bodies with disquiet. They were held, for a second, in a profound moment in which they saw the revolution personified in front of them. Then they turned and left.

If the insurrection of 1832 did nothing else, it granted two young girls, children of the streets, a chance to die with honour.

ooo

The soldier was wrong. It was not strange that those three should have stood side by side in their last moments. In fact, it was the most natural thing in the world. As the end came, they came together.

The Believer, the Cynic, and the People.

finis

**Thank you to every one of my reviewers, you are amazing huggles you I hope to start another fic soon as I so enjoyed writing this one. Au revoir (until next time) and please review!**


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